Disclaimer in previous chapters. Author's notes at the end.

- . -

As she pulled the plastic back, the food actually started to sizzle.

Millie stared, fascinated despite herself as the . . . meat, she supposed, literally began to cook itself before her eyes. The black tray also contained a compartment filled with green beans that were starting to bubble around the edges and another just like it, this one containing carrots. She finished pulling the plastic film away, and the cooking continued in earnest.

Her stomach still turned at the thought of eating, but at least opening the blue box marked S M R E and allowing it to bake itself indicated that she was eventually going to obey the command.

Knives had finished giving his time to cook, having exposed the contents of his box to air several minutes before he'd hit her over the head with her own, literally. He was now alternating between taking bites and looking over a slew of small, page-sized squares of transparent plastic.

There were at least three dozen spread in front of her, in complete disarray, and she tried very hard to pull her attention back to them. They were difficult to read; her hands kept shaking when she held them up. There was neat black type on each one, but the surface of the desk was a nut brown, so each one had to be held up against a lighter background to be read.

And, as they were transparent, they allowed her to see whatever background she chose to read them against, as well.

She hadn't had much chance to see the room prior to Knives' finding and engaging the overhead lights, and while they cast significantly more illumination on the room than the single lamp had done in the previous, she wished fervently for darkness.

She didn't understand how he could eat, after -

Millie carefully didn't face their direction, but she could see them anyway. Had seen them as she'd walked to the desk, again at his direction. They'd been young, no older than late twenties, and neither her warning nor their guns had done them the slightest good. She'd spent a half-hour or more curled where he'd shoved her, behind the crates, trying to block out the sound of their deaths.

She didn't know how he'd understood the words through their screams. She wasn't sure there had even been words. She'd crammed her fingers in her ears and hummed as loudly as she dared, trying to pretend she couldn't hear.

Killing was wrong. But she knew better than anyone that she couldn't have stopped him. Any attempt would have been easily rebuffed, ending in a stinging bruise at best and dead herself at worst.

So she'd done nothing. Millie swallowed hard as her stomach turned again at the memory of watching the blood still oozing from their deeper wounds.

She couldn't do it again. Nothing. It was worse than being hurt. It was worse than anything she'd ever done. She knew she couldn't have changed their fate, but that knowledge was a cold lump in her throat. They died in agony, and she had agreed to help the one that had killed them.

Four men had died before her in the last twenty-four hours. She needed to help Mr. Knives find Mr. Vash without giving him the opportunity to kill more people. There had to be a way, somewhere –

She bit her lip lightly, picking at the scabs there. She'd cut it quite deeply when he'd struck her in the truck, and now that the drugs meant for Knives were finally leaving her system, she was noticing more pain. Her headache was more hollow, and not getting any better as her concentration improved. Her eyes ached as she forced them to focus on the words, and her right leg still stung from its impact with the hard ground.

Some part of her mind realized he had shoved her aside with that much force not only to make the point to her that she needed to respond more quickly to him, but to knock her out of harm's way. Behind the crates, the stray bullets couldn't hit her. The fact that he wanted to keep her alive filled her not with hope, but something colder. It meant he wasn't done with the humans yet. It meant he needed her to do something else. Something he'd already planned.

But it also meant she still had an opportunity. A chance to help him help Mr. Vash, a chance to demonstrate that not all humans were . . . were the horrible spiders he kept calling them. A chance to save not just Mr. Vash, but Meryl and Elizabeth and everyone else. Her family. The chief. Kaite. Mr. Wolfwood's orphans.

She had to focus on that chance. She couldn't afford to waste it. And she couldn't help anyone if she let Mr. Knives kill her, not here.

Millie took a deep breath, fighting down the despairing thought that the justification didn't make her feel any better. Then she looked back down at the desk.

The tray was finished cooking, steaming beside the light blue paper box that had enclosed it. He'd thrown it at her to get her attention after he'd finished, having pulled it from one of the crates. The men here had been stockpiling food and weapons. Their guns were now on the table besides Knives, large and rather blocky-looking with a strange canister on top emitting the red light.

Probably it put a dot on whatever you were aiming at, like a sight but easier to use.

She picked up a few of the transparent pages, setting them down on the blue box to try to sort through the ones she'd read and the ones she hadn't. They were reports of some kind, in a memo format. On the light blue box, she was able to read the stack until about four deep, when the words started blending together too much to make out. They were easy enough to read in piles of twos or threes, and in this way she was able to keep her eyes down on the desk, away from the blood that seemed to be wherever she looked.

And that allowed her to choke down some of the food.

Despite her emotional turmoil, her stomach was glad to accept something that wasn't her own blood, and she finished it much more quickly than she would have thought. She'd also finished reading the transparencies. Nothing had said much of anything. Numbers of men and supplies, plans to transport them, and disaster procedures.

In case of mass casualties or destruction of shipping lines.

She wanted to think that was planning against sandstorms or other natural disasters, but the slim, silver syringe sitting next to the guns made it difficult to cling to that happier explanation. And now that she was done reading and eating, she no longer had anything to distract her from him.

He was also finishing his pile of reports, eyes flat but relaxed. He was leaning back in a familiar-looking folding chair, feet propped up on the desk beside his emptied tray of food, the very picture of casual indifference. The fact that he was not in a hurry worried her; perhaps these men had not had the information he was looking for. Perhaps he needed her to 'spring the trap,' so to speak, on others like them.

They'd been dressed very similarly to the last pair, though the guns and some strange, small boxes on their belts had been new. Both of those boxes were currently in Knives' possession, sitting in his lap and serving as his own light backdrop to read the reports against. He was reading them one at a time, so it was taking him longer. She waited patiently until he was done, careful not to stare or move.

He gracefully unfolded himself from the table, placing one of the grey boxes on the table. The other he kept in his hands, tapping the buttons. After a few moments, he tossed the device back towards the bodies. Millie turned away at the slightly soggy sound of the device landing on one of the men.

Knives smiled at her, and she turned her eyes away from him as well.

"Was there any pertinent information?"

She shook her head, staring at the desk. "No."

"There are canteens in the crate behind you. Bring a few along."

She turned without a word, proceeding directly to the faux wooden crate in question. He was right; though it wasn't opened, when she worked one of the poorly-nailed boards loose, she found it was filled with clear, plastic liter bottles of water. She grabbed five, guessing that a few were more than several, and turned to find Knives already walking out of the warehouse, the way they'd come.

She followed him, having to walk quickly to match his long strides. She could easily outwalk Meryl, but years of working with the shorter girl had taught her to saunter and shorten her stride to cater to the other girl's gait.

Oh, Meryl. Please don't be looking for me. Please have stayed in New Phoenix.

That was one place she was certain Knives wouldn't be returning to shortly. It made that town the safest place for her right now. She wasn't certain which city they were outside of now, but she had a bad feeling it was Inepral City. It was still too distant to make out the city, let alone what type of Plants they had, but if Knives was planning on destroying it before they moved on to the next . . .

But he hadn't destroyed New Phoenix, he'd just –

Millie stopped dead in her tracks.

She didn't know if he'd destroyed New Phoenix. She'd been unconscious, she hadn't woken until they were far away into the desert.

Why hadn't it occurred to her before? Millie bit back a low moan, tearing at the tender scabs on her bottom lip. Oh, please. Please don't let anything have happened to her.

Knives never stopped moving, and after an agonizing moment of wondering if she should ask him, she continued after him. Their walk through the desert back to the truck was completely silent, and when he slipped behind the wheel and turned the engine over, she realized if she didn't hurry he was going to leave her.

She barely hopped into the cab before the vehicle was in motion, and she gracelessly dumped the water bottles to the floor of the truck before yanking the door closed. Again, Mr. Knives headed unerringly in a single direction, as though he had a destination in mind.

Had he found something . . .?

Was he going to spare the city they were just outside of, or was he heading right for it?

Hours had passed since she'd left the truck, and it was clear the suns were well on their way towards dusk. She pulled down the visor to block some of the glare, and took a deep breath.

"Mr. Knives?"

He sighed. "Is your hearing as inferior as the rest of you, spider?"

She blinked, nonplussed. Had he –

He'd warned her that he would kill her if she kept questioning him.

Millie returned her gaze to the floor and closed her mouth.

And did nothing.

Barely half an ile passed before she felt like grinding her teeth. Was she so petrified of him? If she didn't speak with him, take the opportunity, then she really would have done nothing but help him kill. And that wasn't why she was helping him. She was helping him to help Mr. Vash. Because helping Mr. Vash was right. She squared her shoulders and turned back to him, looking at him directly.

"Did you destroy New Phoenix?"

There. She'd said it.

Knives was silent a long time. "Spider," he finally replied, "do you know why I continue to allow your defiance?"

He still wasn't looking at her, which made staring at his profile a little easier than it might otherwise have been.

"You promised Mr. Vash-"

"Are you so familiar with the terms of our 'promise'?"

His tone was very conversational, which was the first indication to her that she had just said something she shouldn't have. Her voice faltered a little.

"I-I know-"

"Nothing," he finished for her. "Part of this 'promise' you continue to cling to is the destruction of New Phoenix, and every other human settlement down to the last farmstead. And do you know by whose hand all those humans will die?"

He finally turned to look at her, and meeting his eyes was much easier than it should have been. They weren't angry, or flat, or glaring, or mocking. They were simply watching.

Surely he couldn't be saying –

"My brother 'promised' the death of every spider on this planet should his precious humans resist his ridiculous vision." The corner of his mouth turned up. "Knowing this was inevitable, I readily agreed. And that is why I tolerate your insolence, spider."

Millie blinked at him. Mr. Vash would never agree to that. He would never promise something he couldn't do, would never promise away the lives of everyone on Gunsmoke, and certainly not by his own hand –

"I don't think your hearing is any better than mine!" she heard her voice rise sharply. "Whatever the terms of your agreement, Mr. Vash would never say something like that! He's not capable of killing anyone!"

"You deny what you saw with your own eyes?"

"You didn't give him a choice!" she shot back. "You sent Mr. Legato knowing he would force Mr. Vash to kill him! You did that on purpose!"

"Your kind is so full of contradictions," Knives murmured coolly. "You believe that my dear brother is incapable of killing and yet admit he has done just that with the next breath."

Millie felt her hands curling into fists, and she had to struggle to keep them at her sides. "That's not the same and you know it!"

"Vash made his own choice." Knives' voice indicated he was losing patience, though his face was still calm. "He always does."

"And he made the choice to spare your life!" she cried. "He didn't do that so you could kill everyone!"

Knives raised an eyebrow and turned back to the desert, effectively dismissing her. "When we arrive, I will allow you to ask him about the terms of our agreement. Perhaps dying by his hand will convince you."

She turned away from him, shaking. That was something she knew without a doubt. Mr. Vash would never hurt her. Never. He'd killed to protect her from harm. He'd gone against his very ideals to save her. Her and Meryl both.

And he hadn't answered her question, either. She was so furious it took her iles to grasp the full meaning of what he'd said.

"You know where he is?" Her voice was tight, but at least it was civil.

Knives actually laughed. He was laughing at her! "Of course, spider. Weren't you listening?"

She refused to rise to the bait. "Does that mean he's okay?"

"Yes, I'm certain the other humans are treating him with the respect and deference they always show him." The humor evaporated from his voice as though it had never been. "There are two pistols on the seat beside you. Pick them up."

Millie glanced down at her left, startled to see that he was correct. The two blocky pistols were laying there innocuously next to the single remaining grey – computer, she guessed. She hadn't noticed them in her hurry to get into the truck and subsequent conversation. She glanced back at him, and even in his profile she could see that he was waiting for the inevitable question.

She hesitantly reached out, watching him for a reaction. Surely this was another test, another way for him to hammer home his point. But he did nothing, not even after she had actually picked them up. They were light in her hands, heavier than Meryl's derringers but much lighter than Mr. Vash's gun. Despite their bulky appearance, they were well-balanced. She wasn't accustomed to having two weapons, but then again, her stun gun was back in the hotel room in New Phoenix –

She swallowed back the words and just looked at the guns. After a time she identified the safety, the clip release and catch, and the type of action. There was also a button that probably turned the red light on and off.

"I am going to identify a series of targets," he continued suddenly, startling her. "For example, we are approaching a large chunk of limestone on the right-hand side of the vehicle. For every target I identify, you will fire with both weapons, ideally striking the target with both. For every bullet that misses a target, Vash will put one into you. You will practice until both clips are empty."

Millie continued to stare at the pistols. That was . . . impossible. And horrible. If Mr. Knives was really telling the truth, if Mr. Vash had really had to promise something so awful to get Mr. Knives to agree . . . shooting her once would be impossible for him. If he had to do it twice, or three times –

How could he be so cruel to his own brother?

She wanted to ask him, but she was sure he wouldn't respond. He was looking at her again, waiting for the question, daring her to ask it. She was pretty sure she could hit something as large as the rock he'd pointed out, but the truck was bouncing everywhere and she'd never really practiced just left-handed –

He needed her to shoot accurately. To shoot people accurately.

He wanted her to help him kill the people that had kidnapped Mr. Vash.

She almost dropped the weapons. That was, if possible, the only thing worse than doing nothing. That was the reason she carried a stun-gun instead of something more powerful. That was a promise she had made a very long time ago, when she'd agreed to take on the most dangerous job Bernardelli had to offer. That was the reason she'd argued with Mr. Priest.

But she had promised to help Mr. Knives. He was honestly worried for his brother's safety. And if he was giving her the weapons, weapons she could turn on him, he must actually require that help. And maybe once they found Mr. Vash, if he was okay, he could explain what he must have meant in their agreement, or at least force Mr. Knives to reconsider their terms.

And after all, Mr. Vash and Meryl carried guns. And she'd seen both of them use them time and time again to only disarm their enemies, or cause only light wounds. If she could shoot these guns accurately enough, she wouldn't have to kill anyone. She could just shoot their weapons away, like Meryl and Mr. Vash did!

Millie took a deep breath, and shifted to face the window. The rock on the right-hand side was fairly close, and fairly large, and she reached up with her thumbs to turn on the red dot sights.

- . -

Elizabeth watched the light spectrum shift, noting the intensity and regularity of the waves. Or rather, the lack thereof. She was rather hoping they had adjusted their frequency mappings from the regular formats, but a part of her doubted it.

That spike, and the one beside it, she'd always had a hunch about. It made sense, considering the types of energy that had been emitted by the SEEDs' defensive cannons. And what else was an Angel Arm but a tiny version of a giant space gun?

The doors reopened, and she saw three ghosts in her peripheral vision. Two of them stopped to speak with Dr. Greer, and she waited another breath before looking up and catching his eye. He seemed to have expected it; he gave her an insincere smile and a nod of his head, and she turned as if satisfied and returned her gaze to the screen.

Obviously whatever scene Meryl had decided to make outside the main control room had been contained, or at least moved to a more appropriate venue.

It was interesting how little Vash had changed, at least to her eye. True, all she could see was an outline, but she'd seen him hold himself in the exact same position when sleeping. She was no doctor, and she had never had much of an interest in the application of chemicals directly to a Plant, so the screen to her left, monitoring drug and fluid input, meant very little to her.

She'd always relied on the computer systems to compensate based on a series of commands, position of the inner bulb to the outer, or a script, and she had John or Sunjy check the logs if she felt the calibration was off. And she only felt the calibration was off if she didn't get exactly what she expected out of a Plant after she'd double-checked her attitude, commands, and scripts. And since it would be downright rude for her to take a terminal and see what sorts of scripts Dr. Greer was running without an invitation, the best she could do was wait for him to make that invitation.

He had a hurried conference with the two suited technicians, then came to join her. He was being fairly professional, which she found vaguely irritating, since he was hiding his other intentions quite poorly. She greeted him with a nod as he returned, and he clasped his hands apologetically.

"I do hate to tell you this, but it appears your companion was overcome with emotion, and has accepted a sedative. She's resting comfortably in one of the suites."

Ah. Meryl tried to take someone's weapon away and was clubbed over the head by an overzealous guard. They'd keep her out until the most obvious signs of the concussion had cleared. Elizabeth shook her head regretfully. Idiot woman.

"She was in love with him, once," she said softly, so the other technicians wouldn't overhear. "Her reaction isn't surprising."

Dr. Greer's eyebrows climbed for his hairline. "You mean to say –"

She just nodded, returning her gaze to the spectrum analysis. "You may not know this, Dr. Greer, but he was raised from birth as a human. Vash the Stampede is very charming when he wants to be."

The other scientist moved sharply beside her, and she stilled a reflexive attempt to swat him out of her personal space. "Yes, well, naturally I didn't get much of a chance to speak to the Plant. We found it to be fairly unsocial, though I believe now that we've returned it to a more natural state it's much happier." There was a note of pride in his voice.

Ah, of course. Vash probably hadn't willingly manifested his Angel Arm, and if he kept his humanoid form, he wouldn't emit enough energy to do much more than create a blip on the most sensitive equipment.

"So you were the one that successfully integrated him with the bulb systems?"

Dr. Greer clapped his hands together. "Just so, Ms. Boulaise. Of course, Dr. Shrew is claiming most of the credit for finally stabilizing the Plant's physiology. It was rather difficult, admittedly. It took us almost forty-eight hours longer than anticipated to fully adapt the Plant to the bulb."

She nodded, gesturing at the display. "Are you using one of the normal templates for your energy graphing, or have you tailored this one specifically?"

He chuckled, taking a seat at the nearest terminal. "It's tailored specifically to this Plant," he replied. "Some quirk of this Plant sends it into a period of hibernation every few hours. The longest sustainable output we've recorded from it is about five hours. As you can see, this is the beginning of the destabilization period between production and hibernation."

He pulled up a line graph and gestured at the spikes and valleys. "The unit of time is an hour, so you can see this graph represents the last four days. The production generation time elongated in fairly predictable increments until earlier today."

She studied the graph carefully, noting the highest spikes. It wasn't even a fraction of the energy that had been released in the destruction of July and Augusta, but it didn't cause so much as a two percent compensation in the bulb's containment system.

"You haven't spiked him to his full potential."

The scientist eyed her appraisingly. "Forgive me, Ms. Boulaise, but may I inquire what work you've done with the Plant in this area?"

She laughed pleasantly. "I'm afraid my only experiences with Vash's Plant-derived abilities are observations. My family lived in July."

He was quiet a long moment. "Forgive my boldness, but I was wondering why you seemed less distressed than your companion."

She smiled again and shook her head. "Meryl Stryfe is a companion in the loosest sense of the word. She and I work together because we have no choice."

He was silent, and she continued at his unspoken question. "Whether Knives forced his hand or Vash lost control of his abilities, the end result was the destruction of my home and the death of my parents." She tried to make her tone conversational. "Therefore any feasible means of preventing such an occurrence from happening again have my full and utmost cooperation and efforts, doctor."

He nodded slowly. "I don't think this Plant meant any harm," he finally volunteered. "It must have been difficult to exist for such a time in such an unnatural state."

She shrugged. "He was taught to cope by humans, which meant turning to alcohol." Then she looked at the engineer pointedly. "No matter what he is, Dr. Greer, he is definitely a 'he,' in behavior if nothing else."

The doctor shook his head. "You'll forgive my lack of the pronoun," he said apologetically, and for once it sounded as if he truly was sorry. "Dr. Shrew is unpleasant at best, and dislikes all manner of technical inaccuracies, even for the sake of politeness."

More Dr. Shrew again. "How closely have you been forced to work with such an unpleasant colleague?"

He frowned, closing the line graph and pulling up a significantly more complex database. "Closer than I'd like," he admitted in a low voice. "Obviously, to secure the bulb we had to make significant physical repairs to this Plant, and given it was already so badly damaged by the time we were able to capture it . . ." He blew out his cheeks in a sigh. "At the end of this destabilization period we'll be pulling the Plant from the bulb, and you'll get to see Dr. Shrew in her element."

"I can hardly wait," Elizabeth responded dryly, and Dr. Greer laughed.

"Listen to me, talking badly about a colleague. The commander would have my head. Please, take everything I've told you with a grain of salt. If anyone can stabilize my Angel outside of the bulb, it will be her."

Elizabeth nodded, looking over the database. Much of the data meant nothing to her, compounds and amounts and reaction measurements in decimal points. Clearly it was meant to show her the health of the Plant, but she wasn't sure negative numbers were any worse than positive numbers, and both were sprinkled liberally through the database.

He waited patiently for her to review the data, and when she nodded he closed the database to pull up the familiar graphs. "We should see three more significant drops, and then I'm afraid the show is over until the other Plant is ready for insertion."

She nodded, straightening slowly and stretching her back luxuriously. "I've spent the last day traveling," she said by way of explanation, and the doctor almost forgot to acknowledge it.

"Of course, of course. You must be exhausted. How insensitive of me, to monopolize your time in this fashion!"

She shook her head, raising a graceful hand to protest. "The only grudge I bear you is that I was brought into this project so late. I've just finished training two teams of engineers that I'll have to immediately dismiss."

He tsked sympathetically. "I would wait before I sent out the pink slips. Containing the other Plant is my portion of this project, but you may want to speak with," and he winced, "dare I say it, Dr. Shrew, before you abandon the current solar projects." He began walking back towards the main door, and she reluctantly followed.

"Of course, that kind of power generation will never replace a Plant for goods production, but if the only types of Angels we can manufacture are like this one, we may need to rely on your solar plants for the bulk of electrical and heating energies."

"Speaking as an engineer, I prefer the first generation Plants," she laughed, and he joined her. Then she stopped walking, effectively stopping his attempted exit. "Speaking of individual Plants, you do know Knives will be less tractable than you found Vash. Is the plan to capture him using the same method?"

Dr. Greer shook his head, striding over to the bulb control chair to sign a clipboard. "I rather doubt it. As you said, this Plant's penchant for alcohol was not unnoticed, thanks to the journaling efforts of Ms. Stryfe. This Angel's capture was literally as easy as offering a free drink. I believe they chose a simple sedative, which worked on the Plant's physiology well enough. In Knives' case, I'm not certain of the method but the more potent, customized Plant inhibitors will be put into use."

She glanced out at the flickering bulb again, noting the second dip the engineer had predicted. "Please forgive my rudeness, as I've only just seen a mere glance of your work, but from personal interaction with Knives I can tell you that underestimating him will result in the death of everyone on this ship. On the chance the inhibitors are less than successful, have you yet implemented . . . shall we say more permanent measures?"

His look was a little grim, but he nodded. "Thank you for your concerns, and your candor." Again, he seemed sincere. "Should the inner bulb reach a certain level of containment stress, there are explosives placed at the valve. The resulting explosion and heat will incinerate even a fully powered Plant."

She nodded, suddenly noticing the mirror monitors on the ceiling. Of course. It would be more comfortable to adjust the attitude of the bulbs if you didn't have to crane your neck at the wall all the time. "I don't believe your commander realizes how bad his timing truly is. Is there a way I can meet with both of you – and anyone else at a significant level of this project – to give you all what information I have?"

He seemed surprised, but hid it well. "Of course, Elizabeth. I'll suggest it to him the next time I see him. You're welcome to stay for the extraction, of course, but I don't imagine it will be pleasant."

She nodded, trying for a delicate shade of green. "I do believe I can be of more use elsewhere. Oh," she added, as if just remembering something, "as Meryl is resting, might I have the information on her partner, Millie Thompson? I've worked with her a bit more closely than Meryl and I am concerned for her safety."

Dr. Greer gestured to one of his technicians, pointing out something on a clipboard before reaching out without turning to grasp her elbow. He steered her unerringly towards the main door, not meeting her gaze until they exited the main control room.

He licked his lips, oddly ill at ease, and she inclined her head a little. "Not good news, I take it?"

He pursed his lips. "I believe the commander is better suited to tell you this," he finally said, as though weighing each word. "However, I can tell you that your warning regarding Knives' character does not seem to be inaccurate. You've suffered dearly because of the mishandling of these Plants, and I do sympathize."

Elizabeth just stared at him. "Bryan told us that she'd been taken in by one of his teams for safekeeping, and that the team had not checked in."

Dr. Greer spread his hands helplessly. "They were murdered, I'm afraid."

She took a step back, putting out a hand to catch the stair banister. " . . . I . . . I see. And Millie . . ?"

He shook his head. "I don't know if her body was recovered. I'll ask Private Asoaurd to arrange for the information to be displayed in your suite."

"But –" She hesitated, swallowing hard. "That would mean Knives knew of a plot to contain him."

Dr. Greer's eyes were grim. "Frankly, I think everyone's a little surprised Knives hasn't knocked on our front door yet. I believe odds are on tomorrow at the latest, which is why we need to clear and clean the bulb for its permanent occupant."

She nodded, distracted, and he helped her down the four stairs. "I'm afraid I'm needed here, but the lieutenant will escort you to your suite. I look forward to working with you." His mind was obviously on other things, and he puttered back into the control room without looking back.

The lieutenant was another uniform, extending his arm charmingly to her. She accepted it gracelessly, eyes blank and turned inward in thought. They would assume her devastated by the news, so would not be expecting conversation.

Was that what had set Meryl off? The news that Knives had wised up to this plan before they had? She shuddered to think of what Knives might have done to Millie. As one of the women closest to Vash, and the only one besides her allowed into his Eden . . .

All the more reason to contain him. Vash's plan had gone up in smoke, and though Meryl didn't know the details of the compromise, Elizabeth had been privy to a good deal of it. It seemed like only days ago Vash had been slumped in the control room with her in New Oregon, humorlessly revealing the possible cost of their failure.

If Knives wasn't stopped before he reclaimed Vash, they were all dead. Every last soul on Gunsmoke except the Plants. And god help them if Knives learned they'd put Vash in a bulb. Extermination by bright white light would be paradise in comparison to the alternative.

God help them.

- . -

He idly kicked a charred piece of metal, watching it bounce unevenly across the blackened ground. Part of him felt a little guilt, but the vast majority of him felt sunburned and grateful.

Grateful his ass hadn't gone up in smoke. Grateful Big John didn't move too fast. If he'd noticed that power flux any faster, Josh'd have been crisped along with the shed.

And it just didn't make any damned sense.

He followed the fairly random path the slag had made, kicking it twice for good measure. It complained with the poisoned twang of badly molded metal and leapt reluctantly under the main bulb body.

Josh glared at the ground. Between the fact some of it had been melted to glass and the rest was blackened, he wasn't going to find that piece of slag in the dusk with two hands and a flashlight. Then again, if he waited till morning, of course, he'd be the 'neer to blow a tire on it hauling refuse under the housing. And since they'd ditched the Plant in favor of solar plants, it wasn't like they could just make a new one, neither.

Cussing in his slow and methodical way, Josh turned and headed back to the coupling station, plucking the filthy yellow flashlight out of the emergency kit and clicking it on. The beam was weak and pitiful against the darkness that was a Plant without its Plant. No one installed lights near the bulb housing – wasn't like you needed it. A Plant lit that bulb just as nice as a filament day and night, so why have redundant lighting. And they'd ripped down the previous bulb housings and let the control room floods take care of that dark spot in the other plants.

This one just had to be special.

He made his way back across the dimly lit area, noting the suns had completely finished their dive in the time it had taken him to walk to the coupling station and back. Damned suns. Everything had to burn here. Nothing ever froze. Just once he'd like to see a freezing problem instead. Something that melted at a temperature that didn't send your skin up in flames.

Like ice cream. Ice cream couplings.

He waved the beam of light around, picking out the glittering of the large swatches of glass. They'd gotten most of the crap up that day, but there'd still be half a day's work evening out the ground tomorrow. Maybe Miss Elizabeth would be in a better mood once everything was straightened out. They hadn't heard nothing from those two birds that talked the muckity-mucks into these Plant upgrades, so maybe the delay wasn't such a bad thing.

Thing was, they were getting bored. Bored bored bored. And a bored 'neer was just about as good as a bad one.

Bored 'neers kicked slag into places where unwary tires would pick it up the next morning.

He cussed some more, without much heat, welcoming the cooling breeze. The sand was still hotter than jumpin' oil in a skillet, so it wasn't much, but he was used to not much. Getting user to it at every turn.

Better than a whole lot, for sure. A whole lot of booze wasn't no good, and neither was a whole lot of bad luck. And that's what they'd had, all right. Nothing but bad luck at this site. Ghosts or Plants or just damned bad luck.

Like that shed. Just wasn't no way it could have accidentally gone up like that. Like a fluid leak or something. Like they wouldn't have noticed it when they'd busted in to get the aux power up after the coupling blew.

Like he hadn't been leading the crew that had gotten the battery attached and back up. Like they hadn't busted tail to do it. Like they wouldn't have smelled the fumes. Like none of 'em wouldn't have been aching from the poison the next damn day.

Nope. Just didn't make no damn sense.

Course, neither did ghosts. He'd been an engineer long enough to respect Miss Elizabeth, and that was long enough to know . . . whatever it was he was thinkin' about.

Dammit. Where was that piece of freakin' slag anyway?

Josh tripped over something with the same mistuned metallic tone, but it was invisible to his puny flashlight. Unperturbed, he bent at the knees, snagging it about the same time two dogs rolled into the backs of his legs with enough force to take 'em right out from under him.

He fell with a grunt, legs tangled in – weren't no dogs.

He grunted again when he felt the blade slice across his chest, hurling both the flashlight and the piece of charred metal. One or the other of 'em hit, because he was left in total darkness, the blood running down his chest like a line of sand fleas.

He kicked the mound of something – probably one of the new hires on rounds, they weren't no good at this security stuff nohow – away from his feet, shakily rolling to his knees. Hadn't even heard 'em till they were on top of him, and even now he didn't hear the sound of retreating feet. Damn charred ground wasn't sandy no more. Made it easy to sneak up on a body.

He didn't know if he'd clubbed the other one or not. There was a knife involved, and he wasn't no young thing no more. He knew from experience the cut wasn't deep, but it was enough to make him dizzy.

"SKIP!" he roared into the night, staying exactly where he was.

Let whoever it was deal with Skip.

"SKIP! UNDER THE BULB!"

Skip was a youngun, and had a better flashlight too. He mopped at the blood on his chest, watching the light bobbing from the security office. Got him all the way across, from one dial to the other. He was lucky it wasn't deeper. Maybe it had just been a misjudged swipe, like for balance or something. Maybe it wasn't like he'd really had to call Skip.

Course, then again Aaron wasn't around, since he was keepin' an eye on Miss Elizabeth down at the hotel, so it was either Skip or Tallow, and Tallow was just about as useless as second-hand ass-wiping tissue.

Skip was a big fellow, real easy-going and gentle most of the time. Kinda took after Big John. But he had a mean streak in him, it came out with gin or if you yelled at him. Hollering sometimes counted. Josh couldn't see his face over the over-bright flashlight, but he figured Skip was probably borderline mad.

"There's a somebody that ain't supposed to be here around," he volunteered, still staying where he was. The beam cut through the area around them, checking into the corners were heavily reinforced metal trellis climbed up to the main Bulb housing.

None of those shadows were moving, and there was very little loose sand to give away footprints.

"Walters – hey, whoa, take it easy."

He waved away the hand that suddenly erupted from behind the flashlight, pointing at the pile of new hire.

"This guy'll be worse off than me."

The beam of light picked out the figure, exactly where Josh had left it. The clothes weren't regular issue – they looked pretty new, and not hard enough stuff for the kind of engineering work the crew did. The light picked out a strange face, freshly shaven, and blank, staring eyes.

Whoever he was, he was as dead as the piece of slag leaning against his chest.

"You know this guy, Walters?"

Josh shook his head, then grunted. "Never seen him before."

Shit. So the new hire had accidentally gone after him too, and run when he realized he'd cut his own man.

"Hey!"

This time they heard the heavy boots grinding on what little loose debris still crunched into the glass ground, and a new hire Josh did know came into the flashlight beam. Shorter guy, about the same age as Skip, rounder than he was tall.

Skip started interrogating him immediately, but Josh knew in less than a second it wasn't the guy. This guy's hands were covered in grease and nothin' else. No blood, and they weren't wiped clean neither. Looked like they hadn't been since lunch.

"You workin' this stretch alone tonight?"

The round man nodded. "Yeah, just me from the housing to the south piping. Hey – is that blood?"

Josh stayed where he was as the round man fainted into a gently snoring pile, and watched Skip's light bounce off to find a first aid kit.

Well, if it wasn't one of theirs that knifed him, and the dead guy wasn't one of theirs neither, then where the hell did that leave them?

It just didn't make no damn sense.

- . -

Author's Notes – Back in the country. Obviously. ; ) Sorry about the delay, but I'm very glad to see so much activity since I've been gone! This chapter's a bit shorter, but that's because it was the only graceful place to stop for a while. You may have noticed one of the main characters seeming to be a little out of character. This is not because I am jetlagged or have forgotten continuity. I will try to wrap this up in the next few chapters! And thank you for the feedback, it was really nice to come home to. ; )